In His Arms
by ARoseWithThorns
Summary: One-Shot, The Hug from Clarke's point of view. This is to tide me over till Wednesday. BELLARKE.


Water. Hot water. Was there ever a more beautiful thing? Clarke closed her eyes as the solar-heated shower cascaded in rivulets that both caressed and hurt her aching body. She ached everywhere from her fight with Anya, and her eyes stung even just thinking about the fierce warrior, killed only hours ago. Clarke sniffed, washing her hair with shampoo from the Ark. She cleaned thoroughly, not bothering to be careful with her bruises and cuts; everything felt numb now. She had seen enough in the last several weeks to traumatize the hardest soldier for a lifetime.

She dried off and dressed in the clean Ark attire laid out across a bench by her mother; fresh panties and a clean bra, standard uniform black leather and blue shirt. She combed out her hair and examined the results in the mirror above the sink – she looked beat up but clean. It felt strangely as though she was betraying her people by wearing this uniform, but it was all she had; they had taken her filthy clothes away and had most likely thrown them into the incinerator.

She opened the door to the latrine, and Abby was there, sitting at a table, staring at her. She would want to talk. Of course she would. Clarke was torn between wanting to tell her how thankful she was that her mother was alive, and between wanting to attack her in the same fashion Anya had attacked her for betraying her father. Instead, Clarke blinked hard, dry swallowed, and ran a hand through her hair.

"I need to step outside. I need air," she said sharply. Abby nodded, and Clarke could feel her mother's eyes following her as she stepped into the chilly morning air. The recently-erected gates hummed with electricity, and people were milling about in different-sized clusters, some talking heatedly about how things were progressing, some not talking at all. Clarke frowned and crossed her arms, walking a dangerous path close to the gates as she allowed thoughts to surface.

It didn't feel right to be here; she needed her people. She needed to get to Mount Weather, but that would only be done with help from the Ark, and it was a thought that unsettled her. Muffled shouting from about twenty feet away made her look up, and then do a double take. There was a skirmish just outside the gate, and she saw people being shoved and heard the unmistakable sound of assault rifle safeties being unlocked. Instinct had her running towards the mêlée before she'd even given herself permission to question what it might be.

"Stand down!" a guard yelled from his elevated perch atop the entrance.

"Damn you, you stupid sons of bitches!"

Clarke began to shiver. It was unmistakably Bellamy's voice.

"Bel-Bellamy!" she screamed. Everyone turned to look at her, and she was clutching the inner gate, almost ripping it open trying desperately to see him. Guards blocked her way outside the humming outer gate.

There was a second of silence, then, "Clarke? Oh my God. Clarke!"

She looked up at the gate guard. "Open the gate right now. They're with us," she growled.

He didn't look so sure, but his wary gaze looked over the gate to Bellamy, and something he saw must have convinced him. "All right. Officer Bosko, open it," he ordered.

Clarke backed up as the sound of bolts unlatching reverberated in the cold morning air. She was almost hopping on the spot; how many times in the last week had she thought of Bellamy, wondered if he was alive somewhere, and if so where?

The gates opened, and in the next second all of her surroundings disappeared. The only thing she noticed, or cared about, was Bellamy, filthy and beaten and beautiful Bellamy, coming straight towards her. Before she knew what was happening, she was lifted off the ground in a huge bear hug, and she felt his nose buried in her hair.

"Oh God, Princess," he growled into her neck. "I thought you were dead."

Something warm erupted in Clarke; for as long as she'd been at Mount Weather she'd felt numb and terrified and ill at ease, but suddenly, in his arms, for the first time she felt safe and complete.Tears pooled in her eyes, and she moved her arms closer around his broad, muscular shoulders. He wasn't letting her go anytime soon, it seemed.

"I didn't know what to think," she whispered back, her voice broken, "I'm so glad you're alive."

She felt his nose nudge her hair, close to the crook of her neck. "You smell good," he murmured.

Clark felt a tear escape and spill down her cheek as she barked out a laugh. "Yeah, well, I wish I could return the compliment, but you stink."

She felt him shake with silent laughter. "Sorry, Princess. God, I'm so glad you're all right."

His arms were like a warm blanket, enveloping her. She felt her body pressed to his, warm and firm and wonderful. She had no clue how long they stood that way, but eventually he released his grip and slowly set her down. She looked up into his dark eyes, shining like oil wells, and knew that no matter what would come, it was enough.


End file.
